Prove You Wrong
by Cheeky Slytherin Lass
Summary: In which Daphne thinks love is a stupid game, and Marcus thinks otherwise.


He watches her, a smile on his lips as Daphne runs across the meadow, the kite flying behind her. For a moment, she is no longer the infamous ice queen of the dungeons. She is softer, carefree, and so wonderfully free.

Daphne skids in the mud, toppling over, and he can't help but to laugh as she climbs to her feet, coated in the wet earth. "It isn't funny!" she snaps, and all her softness has fallen away. "Look at me! I'm a mess!"

"Still beautiful," he calls with a grin, climbing to his feet and crossing over to where she tries in vain to wipe the mud from her dress. He grabs her wrist. "Come on."

"Where are you taking me?"

"Don't you trust me?"

Her lips twist into a scowl. "About as far as I can throw you."

"You must be ridiculously strong, then."

…

Daphne steps out of the bathroom, all traces of her fall washed away. Marcus wonders if he will ever stop being amazed by how beautiful she is. Her dark hair falls in perfect curls past her shoulders. Her crystal blue eyes are soft again, and he can see hints of laughter beneath them.

"Are you going to keep staring me?"

"Are you going to quit being so snappy?"

She considers for a moment. "No."

Marcus laughs. "Then there's your answer. Honestly, most girls don't try to rip my throat out when I take them on a date."

"Well, I'm hardly most girls," she says dryly.

And he knows it's true. Daphne has spent years carefully crafting her reputation, projecting herself as untouchable, as someone to be feared, even among her own House. Marcus doesn't believe in miracles, and yet he can't explain how he could be so lucky as to have a chance with her.

"It's still early. I have more to do," he tells her, grinning.

Her icy exterior though ever so slightly. A smile plays at her lips. "Then I suppose you should get to work. I'm meeting Astoria later for her dress fitting."

He takes her hand, marveling at the softness of her skin, the warmth. Sometimes, he forgets that she isn't actually made of ice.

…

The Three Broomsticks may not seem like an ideal place for the end of a date. So many people end their evening there, sharing wine and laughing over the events of their day. But Marcus never has. His dates, if he could call them that, have always been a quick snog somewhere public, a second snog, a third, and finally a shag back at his place. He's never tried to impress girls when he knows that he doesn't care if they stay or not.

But Daphne is different. She always has been. From the moment he saw her all those years ago, he's wanted to make her stay, wanted to make her melt in his hand, wanted to make her his.

He returns to the table, two butterbeers in hand as he sits across from her. He waits for the snark, for the criticism. Instead, Daphne drinks deeply, a smile on her lips. "Maybe we can finish with something stronger," she suggests before taking another sip.

He doesn't speak. He watches her as he drinks, amazed by her beauty. Sometimes he wonders how he got so lucky. He knows that he's hardly the most attractive bloke. He knows that Blaise Zabini has pursued her endlessly during their school days. And yet, here he is, close to the end of their date, and she's still there.

"Why do you try to be so unattainable?" he asks bluntly.

Her cheeks stain with pink. "Because I don't care for meaningless love."

"Who says that love is meaningless?"

"Everywhere I see love, it's forced. My mother doesn't care much for my father. My sister is marrying Draco out of duty. Love just seems like a stupid power play. What move is the best strategy? Which piece should we capture to make the board fall in our favor?"

"I thought we were talking about love, not chess."

Daphne laughs dryly. "It's the same concept."

He reflects on this as he fetches two glasses of gin. He's never thought of love as a game, though he's heard the comparison time and time again. He's always thought of love as a force, something that's just there, like gravity or sunlight or shadow.

"It's not the same concept," he tells her as he returns again.

"What?"

"Love and chess. It's not just a stupid game where one person wins. Not if you do it right."

"And can you do it right?"

He smiles. "If you give me a chance."

…

They linger outside her door. Part of him wants to go up there, to fall into bed with her and disappear without a word, as he always does. But he's reminded again that Daphne is special.

"I think I can give you a chance to prove me wrong," she says.

"Are you sure?"

Daphne nods. "You took time. You didn't try to grope me the entire time the way Goyle did. You took care in planning everything. It isn't just a rush that ends with a shag, like Theo thinks it should be."

 _Like I've always thought it should be,_ he thinks.

He leans in, placing a chaste kiss to her lips. "I'd like to take you for dinner on Thursday."

Daphne smiles, touching her fingertips to where his lips had just been. "I think that would be okay."


End file.
